


Dress Me Up   ~or~   Drop Me Down

by Dart



Series: QB-E1 2020 Fest [6]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Protective James Bond, Q’s Cats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25392349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dart/pseuds/Dart
Summary: The Quartermaster needs dressing. But first, perhaps undressing.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: QB-E1 2020 Fest [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822318
Comments: 12
Kudos: 78





	Dress Me Up   ~or~   Drop Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Fluff Prompt Table: Fawn and Competence Kink
> 
> Special thanks to Boffin for lending his term “suit cased” to the cause.

"Wear the fawn ones," 007 said. It was more statement of fact than suggestion.

Q's brain went _blue screen of death._ Q couldn't even form the words, let alone get them out of his mouth. But he was sure his face clearly said, " _Error error the fuck?"_ How the fuck did Bond even recall, let alone know Q even had _fawn_ trousers. He hadn't even worn them to work.

Q’s expression transformed from slack-jawed to calculating. Because he’s a goddamn genius like that.

Bond, the fashion force to be reckoned with barreled on. “With that jacket that matches my eyes. The cut will allow you to conceal your holster."

And _god fucking damn it_ if Q's competence kink didn't magnanimously extend itself to his goddamn closet, to Bond's preternatural fashion sense. The absolute _impeccably dressed fucker._

Bond looked him over. "You've got knives in those brown suede chukkas of yours?"

Q nodded.

"Good boy. Plenty of places to conceal weapons.”

Q could almost swear he heard Bond say, _“_ And you can distract them with that arse of yours." But, _surely not._

Bond looked him over again. Considering.

Q straightened his glasses and clamped down on his _ridiculous feelings._ "You'll be with me, 007. Isn't this a little overkill?"

Bond crossed his arms and frowned. "Susan wouldn't let me check out the plague pen."

"Q-Branch isn't a library! You can't just check out a deadly contagion like a bestselling hardback. Besides, it doesn't actually exist. Sometimes we do that, write up amazing tech and things we wish we could make...a kind of brainstorming. Well, two parts brainstorming, one part drinking game. Someone overheard something they shouldn't have. That was 18 months ago. Do rumors never die down?"

"I still think I could get away with a pocket flamethrower."

"You really think...we'll need this many weapons? It will go that sideways?"

"The risk is low. But it's not zero."

“What’s going on? There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Bond looked him over again. Again. He held up his hand. Fingers just shy of Q's hair. "May I?"

" _hngh_?"

And then Bond's fingers were _in_ his hair.

"Have you considered weaponising your hair?"

"My...hair?!"

"Thought you might already have some darts or something in here. Mini lockpick?" And Bond's fingers were working through his curls. The strong agile swoon-inducing little bastards.

"My. Hair." Q repeated as if from faraway.

"Yes, well," Bond said, stepping back, a bit, but not removing his fingers which just made it _weirder_.

"Can't be too careful with _my_ Quartermaster."

And now Bond's fingers were doing _things_ to Q's hair.

Q most certainly did _not_ let out a little moan, not at all.

But his mouth might have fallen open just a bit in shock.

And then Bond was there nuzzling it closed with his lips. Which—WHAT THE FUCK—was lovely. And then coaxing his mouth back open. 

_For fuck's sake man! Make up your mind!_

And then those lips stopped kissing, but kept moving. But now they were moving against his ear. Which… _hnngh_.

"I bet you could do it. Couldn’t you? Weaponise your hair? God. I didn’t know what a competence kink was until I met you. Smart mouth. Clever fingers. Christ. You’re worth fifty of me. Think I can smuggle a rocket launcher in?"

" _Bond_." 

And now nipping! At his _jaw_.

"Call me James when my tongue’s been in your mouth." 

Q has stared down super powers, super villains, _and_ Maria from the canteen. He’ll be damned if _whatever the fuck this is_ is on anything other than his terms.

"Huh. That only warrants you a 'Bond'. Afraid your tongue will have to be somewhere else before I grant you 'James'."

"Yeah okay." Bond dropped.

"Bond!" That most certainly was _not_ a half shriek.

Bond looked up from his knees. 

"I didn't even say _where!"_ Q said.

"It's not a hardship to put my tongue _everywhere_ , just in case."

"You haven't even met my cats!"

"Your...cats?"

"I don't care what all you may be God's Gift to, there's an order to things. And I don't waste time on men who don't measure up to my expectations.”

”Which would be your cats’ expectations.” Bond stood up.

”Yes, well. They’re good judges of character.”

”You’ve known me for _years,_ Q. You've seen me at my, okay, like fifth worst.”

Q did _not_ say, “And I have been besotted with you since my arse plunked down on that bench in front of The Fighting Temeraire. But so help me god, if you are a dick to my cats, I will kick you to the kerb so fast, you won’t even have time to _dream_ of getting to the indignity of being suitcased.” 

“I know that look,” Bond said. “You were wearing it when you first sat your arse down in front of that bloody big ship. All right, _Q_.” Bond put his arms around Q's waist. "I’ll follow your lead. But I assure you, my age guarantees my efficiency.” He nuzzled Q’s ear. “Grab what you need. We have to go by your flat to undress and redress you anyway, might as well meet your cats.”

**Author's Note:**

> The cats are only the tip of the iceberg, you daft git, James.


End file.
